Minions, to the clinic!
by iscariot
Summary: It's clinic time and House decides to take the minions along.
1. Chapter 1

_My first House fic – I think this only came about because my beta has been kidnapped by aliens with my latest update to my ongoing CSI Fic: if anyone sees my beta can they kindly return her, or at least get her comments on my last chapter._

_Anyway…House. This was going to be a comedy and turned into a philosophical work; I must be unwell. I like House, some of the people at work call me House…pity my staff ._

_Note: I write in a highly grammatical style and some of my sentences may confuse, hell, they confuse me and I write them…persevere…_

_Please read and shower me in reviews – or not. Love it, Hate it, any commentary is good commentary. At the least tell me if you actually want everyone to get to the clinic?_

_NB: 11/7/2011 - Have started writing again and have decided to revise and revisit this fic: it's only been six years. Am tghtening grammar adn phrasing though the first 6 chapters and will then start to, occasionally, add more: should be interesting._

* * *

Dr Gregory House appeared to be in a somewhat ebullient mood, which was reason enough to put the three young doctors in his charge on alert. While Foreman, Cameron and Chase were used to the predatory sadism of his usual smirk this - they were hesitant to use the word, smile - expression was reminiscent of something different, something darker, more malevolent; like a piranha that had brushed its teeth in anticipation of getting a sacred cow for its birthday.

"Alright minions, are you ready?"

"Minions?"

"Would you prefer lackeys? How about peons? That has a suitably servile ring to it."

"Minions it is," sighed Foreman.

"Ready for what?" inquired Chase, his usually facile intelligence taking a moment to catch up with the conversation; lack of caffeine will do that to a man. At present, Chase was especially cautious, his fifth columnist activities for the resident Lord of the Sith, and Chairman of the Board, Vogler, making the necessity of asking questions of his boss especially important lest he be led into a trap.

"Clinic duty."

"You're getting us to do your clinic duty? Can you get any lazier, House?"

"No Cameron, I'm coming too, I'm going to observe your diagnostic skills in action; consider it part of your ongoing development. Now, before we go, a few points. Cameron, don't automatically sympathise with the patients, it only encourages them to come back …."

"…Didn't you get the memo, House? We're a hospital, we want sick people to come and see us…"

"…Well, you might, Cameron; now, where was I?" House began ticking the points off on his fingers. "So…don't encourage them, don't listen to them …"

"But how then are we going to know what's wrong with them?"

House looked incredulous, "You'd listen to a patient to find out what's wrong with them? You're supposed to be a doctor, Cameron, not a counsellor; I believe we store those in the basement," he added as an afterthought. "I'll ask Cuddy, she'll know. What else?" he continued, "That's right! Don't smile at them; they can smell it like a lion smells fear and once you've smiled for the first time they'll begin to think you actually care and then they'll start telling you their life stories, their myopic hopes, their pointless dreams and, if you're really lucky," he made lucky sound like an mummy's curse, you'll get photographs of their children and grandchildren and even ... pets …."

The sound of a throat being cleared interrupted House mid-diatribe.

"What is it Foreman?"

"Are we actually going to the clinic in the foreseeable future, or are we going to sit here listening to you telling us how not to do our jobs?"

House smirked "Well, Foreman, since I'd pretty much given up on telling you how to do your job I thought the opposite might have some small effect and, speaking of things I don't want you to do, don't automatically assume the patient's an idiot …."

"But you do that all the time."

"That's because the patients are idiots."

"So you're allowed to treat the patients like they are idiots, but I'm not."

House looked thoughtful for all of ten seconds, "Sounds about right."

"That's inconsistent."

"What's your point?"

Foreman knew better than to answer that particular question.

"What about me?"

The look House levelled at the Australian was mildly glacial. "Indeed, what about you, Doctor Chase? Perhaps you'd like a moment to inform Vogler that I'm inflicting you all on the hapless innocents in the clinic before we leave?"

Chase was determined to meet the older doctor's gaze, however, this was to prove somewhat difficult as House was already on the move and Chase's show of defiance met only retreating back; he wasn't helped by an unsupportive snigger from Cameron and Foreman's barely suppressed smile, "C'mon guys, cut me a bit of slack."

Foreman shrugged, "Sorry Chase, you brought this on yourself, you chose the wrong butt to kiss and it's come back to bite you on…the…err…arse; face it, you're just going to have to let House kick you around for a while ..."

"... And how long do you think that's going to take?"

"Until he, in the fashion of God, decides to have mercy on your unfortunate soul," noted Cameron, "However, considering that it's House and not God, probably never."

"None of you will be shown any mercy if you don't shift your incompetent selves from here to the clinic within the next five seconds," came the retort from the door, where House, having noted that his staff hadn't followed, had doubled back to see what was keeping them. Admittedly, House had a point, he wasn't exactly renowned for racing through the hallways and was even less renowned for racing down the halls to the clinic and, as such, the non-compliance of his prodigies in following along behind was readily apparent especially since he'd only made it about twenty metres down the corridor himself. It was rumoured throughout the hospital, but never within the hearing distance of the irascible doctor, that the only thing that could prompt him to move with any degree of rapidity was, when he received word through the grapevine - namely his friend, Wilson, since no one else would talk to him - that Doctor Cuddy had work with his name on it and was looking for him.

Knowing better than to argue, the three filed quietly past House who regarded their progress with the [apparent] level of disinterest common to officers reviewing their troops.

To be fair, House, he didn't think that the clinic was a complete waste of time; certainly it gave the hospital somewhere to put the myriad of brainless hacks they employed as doctors, however, in the grand scheme of things, he thought the clinic to be a total waste of his abilities, and to serve -in the manner of minor functionary - when he could be engaged in far more productive pursuits (such as like setting a new high score on his Gameboy or catching up with intricacies of his soaps) was an insult of the highest order. That being said, the clinic was a useful tool for training for his minions because, in House's opinion, it was the best place to ingrain the concept that medicine was not about looking after the sick but about solving problems: once the problem was solved the sickness was usually taken care of by the body as part of a wholly natural process.

If House were being candid, he wasn't so misanthropic as to believe that making sick-people well was a bad thing but, in his opinion and historically speaking, it wasn't really that big of a deal. Village wise-woman had being doing exactly that for millennia with little more to help them than a few roots and berries; House had actually sent Cuddy a memo suggesting that the hospital should employ some wise-women and sack some of the less competent doctors.

Cuddy had responded by asking what sort of severance package House wanted.

To House, being firmly of the opinion that - as people were idiots - any illness or malady was largely self-inflicted, and that the body would usually sort itself out if left alone, albeit with a little nudging if necessary. Medicine, he propounded, was where common sense and polite nudging stopped and where an investigative process began. It was all about cause and effect, and House, while doing everything in his power to avoid clinic duty himself, was a firm believer in using it as a teaching tool, if only to demonstrate to his students that the only thing stupider than an ignorant patient was a doctor who thought that they could, not only, tell the body what do to but thought that the body would actually listen.

Those doctors that didn't know House well, which was pretty much all of them, would have accused him of being vastly hypocritical in holding such a view contending that his arrogance was at best, boorish and, at worst, megalomaniacal. Those that did know House knew that his arrogance came not through an overwhelming sense of superiority but from his absolute hatred of being beaten and his preparedness to take risks that no sane, or less competent, physician would even consider in the pursuit of solving the latest puzzle. The thing was, House knew that he was fallible and he loathed it. It was because he recognised his own fallibility that House held those doctors, who never treated anything more difficult than a snotty nose and, when faced with such, threw pills at it, in absolute contempt. House challenged himself to be better than that, and as such, felt it was his due to deride those of narrower vision.

Not, of course, that he informed Cameron, Foreman and Chase of this philosophy. It was, House believed far better to let his minions believe him a self-serving tyrant and to spend their waking moments trying to prove him wrong - from this were good doctors made.

House allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction and wandered off in the direction of the clinic.


	2. Are We There Yet

_So…Chapter 2…It's not too bad._

_I'm using this fic to do several things: Speed up my 'publishing'; such as it is; write a story with an average chapter length of 1500 words (otherwise I tend to go on and on and never post anything); and work on my dialogue – to that end House offers all sorts of intriguing opportunities._

_Anyway, feedback is welcome…more than welcome actually._

_Revised and edited 11/7/2011_

* * *

_Love is a word that is constantly heard,  
Hate is a word that is not.  
Love, I am told, is more precious than gold.  
Love, I have read, is hot.  
But hate is the verb that to me is superb,  
And Love but a drug on the mart.  
Any kiddie in school can love like a fool,  
But Hating, my boy, is an Art.  
_**- Ogden Nash**

* * *

"House! Yo, House."

The unconventional salutation was enough to stop House in his tracks. Turning to face his assailant he was only mildly disappointed to note that it was Wilson who, by dint of friendship – and a Sisyphean tenacity – was somewhat immune to House's dubious charms.

"Yo? Wilson? What is this 'Yo'? Is this some feeble attempt to acquire a measure of urban cool? Remember, I am the man."

Wilson, while feeling somewhat bemused at his misanthropic colleague's declaration of social pre-eminence didn't let it show; experience having proven that reacting to House's sallies was, in essence, giving the man an open invitation to trash your psyche in the worst possible way, even if, he was only having [exceptionally twisted] fun. Those, like Wilson and Cuddy, who figured out that House's abuse was simply a warped manifestation of his sense of humour, survived and plotted their own forms of revenge: Wilson, by giving a damn - which House hated - and Cuddy, with her constant exhortations towards professionalism, paperwork and, where vengeance was especially necessary, clinic duty…

…Speaking of which…

"What do you want, Wilson? I'm on my way to the clinic."

"Voluntarily?" Wilson's tone bespoke disbelief, "What's Cuddy holding over you this time?"

"Cuddy?" House looked momentarily puzzled. "Oh, you're being funny. Sorry, it was too feeble to clearly identify as humour. No, to answer your question, Cuddy has nothing to do with this; I'm taking the children to the clinic; thought I'd work on their diagnostic skills…amongst other things," this last point was said in tones that promised something ominous.

"And where, pray, are your devoted apostles?

"Well they'd better be in the clinic or, if not, then they'd better be heading for the border."

Wilson looked amused. "I thought you had the border staked out?"

"That's only to stop any competent doctors escaping; the Canadian's can have this lot."

"I thought you liked them."

House smirked, "That's not the point; while they're all adequate doctors, they're as, if not more, damaged than I am."

"Is that even possible?"

"You wouldn't think so would you? But let's examine the evidence. Chase has the loyalty and decision-making skills of an opportunistic weasel, Cameron thinks she's in love with me and Foreman has a chip the size of a giant sequoia sitting on his shoulder."

Wilson shrugged, "I'm not sure I'd call Chase damaged."

"What would you call him?"

"Australian."

House nodded in understanding, "I see your point; Cameron, however's a whole different level of broken."

"How'd you mean?" Wilson inquired, although, frankly, he wasn't surprised at the level of disquiet House was expressing with regards to the extremely attractive – and very young - immunologist. His friend had a hard enough job admitting to something as simple as friendship let alone dealing with someone who admitted to feeling something deeper. The oncologist was well aware that his friend's brusque nature hid the - extremely clichéd - generous heart of the cynic; but House's ability to care, such as it was, was, in Wilson's experience, an amorphous thing, and as such he knew that House found the thought that he might have to care in an exclusive capacity positively alarming.

"Let's face it, she's seriously deluded; hell, my own mother doesn't like me."

"Maybe she's completely overwhelmed by your manifest brilliance, sparkling personality and kind, generous spirit?"

"I thought I told you to stop trying to be funny?"

"How about 'there's no accounting for taste' or 'opposites attract'?"

"Wilson? Do you really want me to bludgeon you with my cane? I will if you force me to."

"Then you'd have no one to complain to."

"True; but the all-pervasive silence would be wonderful. Then again" House mused, you'd probably come back and haunt me. Just what I need, a cheerful ghost; it'd be like being haunted by Tiny Tim."

"Awww Gawd Bless us one and all."

"If you're not careful, Wilson, I'll make sure you're Foreman's next patient."

"You consider that a threat? Now, if it were you as his next patient you might have something to worry about, but me? I'm golden."

"So you agree that Foreman's got it in for me?"

"Well, they do say that revenge is a dish best served cold, but Foreman's too professional a doctor to do something like, for example, maliciously attaching your bladder to your throat. So no, to answer your question, I don't think he's got it in for you, not _per se_, anyway," Wilson grinned gleefully as a thought struck him, "Anyway, the two of you are so alike that he's probably in denial."

"That's a crude and base accusation, Wilson."

"But true, nevertheless."

"And where is your evidence?"

"Let's see. You're both excellent doctors. Unsentimental… "

"…That's not true, I saw Foreman smile at a child…"

"…Don't suffer fools gladly…"

"…I put up with Chase…"

"Chase is an idiot, not a fool."

"Alright then, I put up with you…"

"True, but since I'm your friend that says more about you than me…"

House winced, "Touché. Alright then," he conceded, "We may, and I use that term advisedly, share some few traits, but that doesn't explain the chip on his shoulder."

"You're kidding? Please tell me you're kidding, House? You spend ninety percent of your conversations with the man alluding to his missed opportunities as a career criminal and then you send him out to break into people's."

"Why should he take me seriously, no one else takes me seriously, hell, I don't take me seriously."

"Strangely enough, as reprehensible as you are on occasion, you are a damn fine doctor and Foreman, however much he might not want to, respects that ability. That being said, you treat him as little better than a pet larcenist, that isn't what you'd call conducive to a positive relationship."

"So it's not a racism thing then?"

Wilson laughed. "No. You're too consistently nasty to everyone else, irrespective of race, gender or creed, for him, or anyone for that matter, to mistake your behaviour as racially motivated."

House shrugged, "It's a talent."

Wilson rolled his eyes; House was, to all intents and purposes, a lost cause – at least in terms of his behaviour. "So, the clinic?"

"What about it?"

"You're heading down there, remember?"

"I must have repressed the…" House looked thoughtful "…I'm not sure you could call it a memory, how about I subsumed the incipient horror of it all."

Wilson smirked in return "Spare me the melodrama: we need the wood for another crucifixion…"

"Please, tell me the board's finally getting rid of Vogler?"

"As much as it might please you and Cuddy – although she'd never admit it - no. Come to think of it, as much as she loathes the man, I believe she tolerates his presence solely for the entertainment value it generates in driving you crazy."

"Cuddy has always been as warm and inviting as a bowl of angry thistles."

"It's just as well she likes you then, isn't it?"

"It all to do with my manifest brilliance, sparkling personality and kind, generous spirit; remember, you were telling me about it earlier."

"…And you're worried about the mental state of your staff? You'd medal in the delusional Olympics. Anyway, clinic? I'm sure your staff are wondering where you are; they might even send out a search party."

House regarded his friend through narrowed eyes and beetled brow, "…And you're worried about my becoming delusional. I'm fairly certain that the children miss me about as much as the ancient Egyptians would have been devastated if God had decided that he was just kidding about the whole seven plagues thing and that he was really sending them cake."

"_Qu'ils sont mangent ils brioche?"_

"Don't make me guillotine you, Wilson."

Wilson, who wasn't particularly concerned by the threat, was far more worried that the irascible, and wholly unpredictable, man had acquired a guillotine. "Please tell me you're not using that on people."

House smiled beatifically, "Did you never wonder what happened to failed fellowship applicants?" Before Wilson could respond, House sighed melodramatically, "You always think the worst of me; I have a miniature guillotine I purchased in kitset form, I use it to chop tomatoes and garlic…"

Wilson mimed wiping his brow in relief

"…Of course," House continued, "I have taken to drawing pictures of Chase onto the tomatoes…"

"And what, vegetable, pray, would I warrant?"

House smirked, "I'll tell you on the way to the clinic, I need something to distract me from the horror I am about to experience."


	3. HellPavingIntentionsUndetermined

_Well, this went better than I thought. Admittedly, I have written this fully in the knowledge that my beta is going to kill me for not working on my CSI fic…but I doan wanna. Fortunately, as my beta is about 12000 miles away, I am relatively safe…_

_Here's hoping you enjoy this, I have to admit though, I am starting to feel a little sorry for House, I'm starting to doubt whether he will ever get to the clinic…what next? Kidnapped by aliens? (Don't worry; I would never do that to you…or House…)_

_As always, you may shower me in reviews _

_

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_

If Gregory House thought his wit, charm and charisma was enough to overcome the sheer horror that contrived to resemble his clinical consultations and therefore to convince Doctor James Wilson, head of the Oncology Department to accompany him then he had another thing coming. Wilson might have been generous-of-spirit, warm-hearted and overtly sentimental but he was neither insane, masochistic nor inclined to professional suicide and as such politely made his excuses - something to do with a terminally ill lab rat if House's memory served him - and departed in the other direction with the speed, and expression, normally reserved for someone looking for a toilet.

House shrugged, he hadn't expected his friend to hang around.

Of course he didn't did actually expect anyone to hang around when offered the choice of his company; voluntarily, that is, the minions weren't given the luxury of choice they were there to serve. House chuckled inwardly, thinking that perhaps he would recommend to Cuddy that the minions' lab coats were changes to an attractive red colour; Starfleet red to be exact. Unfortunately, he didn't expect Cuddy to go for such a notion, puritanical stickler that she was for things such as rules and regulations and perhaps more disturbingly the absurd notion that it was House's job to act as an example, a role model, if you will.

House couldn't fathom it, himself; in his considered opinion the only role he was fit for modelling was cynic and resident misanthropist, a role none of his lackeys were really suited for. The mere thought of Cameron in any way, shape or form acting the part of a world-weary cynic was just too incongruous to even consider; for a start, the woman believed that human nature was inherently positive and selfless and this, in and of itself was enough to reduce one to alternate tears of laughter and anguish. Foreman, likewise, was difficult to imagine as a cynic, the world was far too black and white a place for the man and House doubted that fractured rose-coloured spectacles, necessary for one to retain the title of cynic, would go with Foreman's choice of ties, insofar as rose, as a colour, bespoke not the world of power dressing and moral superiority.

Now Chase, Chase, had potential, albeit the sort of potential a three-legged horse had of winning the Grand National, but potential nevertheless, House shrugged as he slowly made his way towards the clinic; maybe he'd take on Chase's conversion as some sort of long term project right after he turned water into wine and developed a gene therapy for the ante-natal insertion of common sense in the public-at-large.

"Doctor House!" The precise tones of Doctor Lisa Cuddy hurtled down the corridor towards him in such a manner as to put House in mind of a vengeance-seeking harpy.

Briefly, ever so briefly, House thought about running, but surrendered the idea in favour of the logistical reality of waiting to see what his omnipresent bureaucratic shadow had in store for him.

"Doctor House, might I inquire as to where you might be going."

Head set at a rakishly sardonic angle; House took great pleasure in his response. "Actually, Doctor Cuddy, I am headed towards the clinic."

Cuddy's expression was disbelief made manifest, "You? The clinic? Voluntarily? Your standards of evasion are slipping House, next you'll be telling me you're going to check on a patient's well-being."

"Irrespective of what you may or may not believe, Doctor Cuddy, I am indeed headed towards the clinic, I have decided that the clinic presents a wonderful opportunity to provide those under my tutelage with a wide range of practical experience, which I believe can only work to further their burgeoning medical knowledge."

Taking a moment to translate, Cuddy regarded her nemesis through narrowed eyes, "So you're going to use the members of the public, who make use of the free facilities offered by this hospital, as lab rats, in order to satiate some ghoulish predilection of yours for ritual embarrassment and blatant degradation and humiliation."

"I would never do that to a member of the public," House sounded mildly offended.

"I meant your staff," retorted Cuddy.

"Oh Cuddy," House purred, "you know me too well.

"More's the pity," she sighed, "so, Doctor House, what prompted this charade in the name of healthcare of the greater commonweal."

"You're not going to believe me if I told you I cared are you?"

"No."

"Would you believe I was bored?"

"No. You can torment your staff from the comfort of your office; you generally have no desire to inflict them, nor yourself, on the hospital at large in order to provide yourself with a measure of entertainment."

"I'm not so sure I understand what you mean by 'inflict' Doctor Cuddy, even you admit that I am a capable doctor."

"Indeed you are Doctor House, although even I am at a loss to fully describe what precisely it is that you are actually capable of. No, I use the verb 'inflict' from the perspective of any nurses, administrators, orderlies or, for that matter, patients that have the misfortune to come within range of your alleged good offices."

"Touché; I see your time spent with the inestimable Vogler is improving your sarcasm."

Cuddy shrugged, "He keeps me too busy to practise on you."

"I could come visit."

"Thank you, House, but no. While I appreciate your care for the development of my linguistic skills I am not so desperate for conversation as to willingly invite you into my office.

" …Said the spider to the fly; and here I was thinking that you enjoyed my little visits."

"As you know, my door, as Dean of Medicine, is always open to faculty – even you – however, I don't believe that I have done anything in the last week that would warrant a visit from you; frankly, House, I don't deserve a visit from you, even my priest has granted me absolution in advance for any dealings I might have with you."

House pounced on the last statement with the glee of a paedophile at a jamboree.

"Your priest?" You've been talking to a priest? About me."

"…Only insofar as discussing the philosophical and spiritual ramifications of murder and whether or not the Ten Commandments contained a little wriggle room."

"The only commandment I recall," opined House, "was something to do with coveting your neighbour's ass; which I am completely in agreement with as an ass is a fine thing to covet; especially yours, Doctor Cuddy."

"Well it's nice to see you've retained something, certainly you've failed to grasp the finer points of property ownership, you're not doing so well on the graven images clause and as for that bit about honouring your mother and father, well, I'm not sure anyone will forget what you said about yours at last year's Christmas function."

"I have an excuse; I was stone cold sober."

Cuddy sighed, "At least we can't hold bearing false witness against you; if only because telling the truth is more likely to upset a greater number of people, which can always be counted on to provide you with some small measure of vicarious gratification; and speaking of upsetting people, you've reminded me of the reason I was looking for you."

House attempted to appear like he cared about what Cuddy had to say, and failed, miserably "What's got Darth Vogler's panties in a twist this time?"

"Strangely enough, it's not Vogler, although he's still trying to round up a posse to hang from you from the nearest telephone pole."

"So who does that leave?"

Cuddy favoured the diagnostician with a faintly amused look, "You mean other than the other doctors, the nurses, the patients, the patient's families..."

"Yes, other than the little, insignificant people."

"How about students?"

"Well, if you want little and insignificant, you've struck gold."

Cuddy paused to smile maliciously "…and speaking of students, do you remember how you had to cover that class for Doctor…"

"…the idiot with the lead paint mug…yes, I remember; why?"

"Well, he's sick again…"

"Oh no, not a chance, was there something about the words 'never again' that you didn't understand, Cuddy?"

"Well, House, not only do I not care what you said, but would you believe that the students actually asked for you."

"But…but…I have to go to the clinic."

"You know, House, I never actually thought I'd hear you say those words to me, and such sweet words they are too, and you know what, you can go to the clinic because the class doesn't start for another two hours."

"That's harassment, what do I get out of this?"

"Why Doctor House, I do believe that the answer is nothing, you get nothing out of this. Is that a problem?" Cuddy's smile was saccharine, sickeningly so and House wanted nothing more than to remove it with his cane."

"No, it's not a problem," he ground out, "I will get you back for this you know."

"You can but try, House, she turned to leave, "and House? Have a nice day."

House watched Cuddy, saunter off down the corridor, he could have sworn that he heard her say something about 'her work here being done' as she disappeared from his line-of-sight and thus it was that Gregory House M.D, glowering like a thundercloud, Vicodin in hand, who resumed the long and increasingly interminable journey towards the clinic.


	4. Tell me what you really think

_Hmmm – got a bit bogged down. Still it worked out OK in the end._

_Thanks to all who reviewed last time – remember, lets cover the nice author in millions of reviews_

_Yes, 'tasha, I'm working on the CSI, honestly._

_

* * *

_

"Where is he?" Foreman demanded of his colleagues, impatient as ever with the vagaries of timekeeping that, in part, defined the inestimable Gregory House M.D. - and S.O.B. Foreman subconsciously appended.

"Give the man a break, Foreman, he's crippled, walks with a cane…remember? You do remember don't you, you're not experiencing early onset Alzheimer's from those ties you're always wearing."

"You wear a tie too, Chase," retorted the black man, obviously annoyed that once again House was being defended by one of his primary victims.

"True, but I don't wear it like a fetish trophy; perhaps you're exploring the world of auto-erotic asphyxiation."

"I thought that was your hobby, Chase."

"Actually, I prefer whips," Chase continued, ignoring Cameron who was making desperate TMI gestures with her hands as she looked worriedly about the waiting room to the clinic, "the fact is, Foreman, if you don't undo that top button at some point your head's going to explode."

"You know, Chase," replied Foreman, in what was clearly a faux-observational tone; "your perspective on the matter is truly astounding for someone with their head inserted so far up their arse."

Before Chase could respond, Cameron lost her temper - perhaps more correctly, she lost her omnipresent desire to paint everything in flowers, birds and frolicking lambies – "Would you two kindly shut the fuck up!" Her moment of boldness was immediately undermined, as she once again looked around the waiting room with a look of horror plastered on her pretty features.

For their part, Chase and Foreman did shut up, stunned into silence by something they thought impossible.

"Did you know she could swear?"

"Nope. Did you?"

The Australian doctor shook his head in the negative; it was like discovering that not only were dinosaurs not extinct but that they drove to work every day and coached little-league teams in their spare time.

Cameron, for her part, appeared to be vacillating between lynching the two doctors for their condescending, albeit friendly, attempts at humour or just giving up and laughing at them and herself. However, before she could come to a decision she was interrupted by an on-duty nurse who, having lost a rapidly cut throat elimination round of rock-paper-scissors with her peers, had been nominated to approach the, now, laughing doctors.

"Excuse me? Doctors? Is one of you free?"

"We're waiting for Doctor House to arrive."

"I know." She glanced around rapidly, much like a gentle ruminant at a savannah watering hole checking out the location of the nearest predators, "Well, I know you work for Doctor House," she amended, "but seeing as he's not here," thank Christ, she added silently, "could one of you check out the child in Examination Room One, he's been screaming for the past half-hour and no-one's been in to check him out."

"Why not?" asked Cameron.

"Doctor House was supposed to be here half an hour ago but he's yet to arrive."

While Foreman rolled his eyes at Chase in an 'I told you so' gesture, Cameron stood up, all business. "I'll go," she said, before following the retreating nurse towards the room, "you two try and stay out of trouble until House arrives."

"I don't think she trusts us," pondered Chase.

Foreman shrugged, "Can you blame her?"

"I dunno, I think I'm fairly trustworthy; what about you?"

"Do I think you're trustworthy?"

"No. Are you trustworthy?"

"Depends who you're asking."

"I'm asking."

"So, you're asking me if I think I'm trustworthy?"

The Australian doctor paused, for a moment, to work his way through the semantic conundrum into which he'd so successfully boxed himself. "Errr…yes?"

"The answer, of course, is no."

"Chase looked startled, "You know, Foreman, you sounded remarkably like House then."

"That's because he didn't answer the question, I did." Both doctors whirled around to see House, leaning insouciantly against a pillar, with his usual look of smug superiority plastered winningly across his face.

"Where have you been?" demanded Foreman, "You're the one that told us to come down here to watch you; the least you could do is actually turn up."

House looked at the black doctor oddly, "I thought you didn't like watching me work, Foreman; I'm fairly sure that, on occasion, you have mentioned, to all and sundry I might add, that I am an affront to your notion as to what constitutes professional standards. Or is it simply that you missed me. How sweet." House spared Chase a glance, "did you miss me too?"

"Not really."

"I'm devastated; not surprised mind you, but devastated nonetheless."

"I'm sure you'll cope."

House didn't bother to answer, distracted as he was by Foreman, who was looking more and more impatient by the second.

"What?"

Foreman looked at House suspiciously, clearly expecting to spring a trap with his response, but not entirely sure what it would be "Well…" he answered cautiously, albeit no so deferentially as to intimate that he didn't think House was being an idiot "We're supposed to be observing you, remember?"

"Well fine. Observe." It was then that House noticed that he was missing a minion, "Where's Cameron?"

"As you were late, one of the nurses asked for someone to help with a patient, Cameron volunteered."

"Of course she did." House sighed in resignation, "and where, pray, is this patient?" he looked around as if willing the patient to appear in front of him thus sparing the necessity, and ancillary indignity of having to go to another person.

"Examination Room One."

"Fine. Come minions."

Foreman and Chase looked at each other and shrugged, it wasn't like they had anything else to do. Actually, that wasn't precisely true, they had plenty of other things they could do, however, since House had commandeered their morning, it was more accurate to state that they didn't have anything else to do if they wanted to continue walking and breathing so they trailed after the acerbic older doctor as he limped towards the examination room.

Showing his usual grace and restraint, House crashed into the examination room with only barest excuse for a peremptory knock to announce his arrival.

"So, assuming you haven't irreparably maimed the poor child, Cameron, what's the diagnosis?"

Barely raising an eyebrow in response, Cameron turned to reassure the mother of the, once again, wailing child, before serenely addressing her boss.

"Ear infection."

"Nothing else?"

"You seem disappointed; would you like the child to have contracted something more virulent?"

Sparing a glance at the mother, House moderated his response, slightly, and only to prevent the mother from joining her vocally gifted offspring in joining the mounting crescendo, "Virulent no, interesting yes."

"Define interesting?"

As ever, House's answer was cryptic and distinctly non-helpful "Your interesting, or my interesting, Cameron? Let's take the three of you as an example; if I were to ask each of you what constituted interesting, I would get a completely different answer. You, Cameron, would give us an answer based on the principles of happiness utilitarianism."

"What's that," asked the mother, who had decided, on taking a measuring glance at the, obviously, senior doctor's relationship to the younger practitioners, that there were more exciting things going on here than a simple mass consultation and, as such, there was more be gained from paying attention then there was wailing.

Without looking at the woman, House replied, "It's an idiotic philosophy that believes that the best outcome is the one that results in the most happiness."

"Why is that a bad thing? Isn't making people happy a good thing?"

"Sure, if you're stupid and don't understand the concept of consequences. The thing with making a lot of people happy is that you have to compromise, and while compromise might be okay if you're facing two groups of angry people carrying sharp implements; it's not so good medically; medically, you want the solution that works, irrespective of whether or not it pisses someone off."

"I disagree," interjected Cameron.

"You would. You think a smile solves everything."

"But it helps."

"With what?" House managed to combine sarcasm and disbelief into two words. "If you're going to cut someone's leg off it doesn't matter how much you smile at them the leg's going to come off anyway, and frankly, with the patient unconscious due to anaesthetic, your smile isn't going to assist in the medical procedure either.

Cameron looked militant at House's apparent dismissal, well a militant as a puppy with a slipper, but she did her best, which amounted to little more than a passive-aggressive growl that had Chase and Foreman desperately choking back laughter.

"What about those two?" asked the mother, having noticed the two men's suppressed mirth, and deciding that some parental logic needed to be applied; that is, if some of the children were feeling smug at the expense of another then they needed to be cut down to size.

"Let's see." murmured House. Foreman and Chase abruptly stopped their cackling and Cameron began to look smug. "That one," he indicated Foreman, "justifies any action based on how it relates to his professional appearance as a doctor, which I'm suppose isn't bad thing if all you're prepared to diagnose is punctured dignity. That one," he said, indicating Chase, "Will probably diagnose you correctly, but will then claim that it wasn't his diagnosis and was only acting under orders."

"And what about you?"

"Other than the fact that I'm brilliant?"

"If you insist." The woman was used to dealing with people with godhood complexes at parent-teacher meetings so wasn't too worried about House's estimations of his staff, or himself for that matter.

"I see people as experiments, not human beings with feelings and stuff; I'm told that's a bad thing. Anyway, let's deal to your brat, sorry, I mean, child."


	5. Refloating the Whale

_Well, despite the fact that I feel this is starting to crash and burn a bit I thought I'd do at least one more chapter to gauge reaction. Several people have noted in reviews (and thank you, by the way) that I tend to the overly verbose in places, and yea, verily, I must plead guilty as charged; of course I am having fun bending the language into odd shapes so I hope you'll humour me… please?_

_As for this chapter: couple of jokes in here that I am really proud of; that is, they are actually funny rather than simply piquing my sense of the perverse; all in all, I hope you, the reader likes what is contained and sees fit to write a review…._

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**Harvard Law:**  
_Under the most rigorously controlled conditions of pressure,  
temperature, volume, humidity, and other variables, the organism will  
do as it damn well pleases._

_I am returning this otherwise good typing paper to you because someone  
has printed gibberish all over it and put your name at the top."  
_**-- English Professor, Ohio University**

_Had this been an actual emergency, we would have fled in terror,  
and you would not have been informed._

_

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_

"House? Where you going?" Allison Cameron's voice rather forcefully followed Doctor Gregory House as he slowly backed out of the examination room with a look of horror replacing his usual, and to some people's mind, perpetually jaded expression. In short order, Doctors' Chase, Foreman and an irate Doctor Cameron pursued House out of the examination room. "House, answer the damn question, where the hell are you going!" Cameron's usual deference appeared to have gone AWOL.

"Anywhere but back in there" was House's somewhat perturbed reply, "have you seen that woman, she's in danger of being refloated by Project Jonah. Frankly, if she makes a wrong move I could be embedded in the wall and further, I have no wish to be turned into _pate de la maison_; remember, I'm a cripple, I don't move very fast…**"**

"…Unless you're chasing Doctor Wilson to refresh your Vicodin prescription."

"Don't pick on the cripple…"

"…But it's okay for you to pick on the fat woman?"

"What do you want, Foreman? Consistency? I can't help being a cripple whereas she should stop accumulating frequent flyer miles at the Scottish restaurant."

Cameron sighed, "I thought we'd solved the fat person discrimination thing with that little girl that Chase had so much fun picking on."

"Hey, don't bring me into it."

"C'mon, Chase," wheedled House, "don't you find that grotesque tub of lard even moderately revolting."

"I'm so not going there," replied the Australian "I really, really…really, don't want another group of lectures on how insensitive I am."

"What do you mean by 'group' of lectures?" inquired Cameron.

"Let's see. I got one from you on insensitivity and one from Foreman on being an arsehole, and then there was one from House."

"House gave you a lecture on sensitivity?"

"No, I gave him a lecture on being an idiot and accepting things at face value when the evidence points to the contrary."

"So what makes the woman in the examination room any different?" asked Cameron,

"That would be the melted cheese on her clothes and the mass of discount vouchers in her purse."

"You looked in her purse?" Cameron tried, but failed to hide her disgust.

"I was just making sure Foreman hadn't taken anything and I saw them there." House said as he reached into his back pocket and proffered the minions a choice of several vouchers, "anyone for a thickshake?"

"Surely you didn't take them from her purse? I mean, seriously, you didn't rob the fat woman?" inquired Chase, earning a sharp glance from Cameron for his, to her mind, _faux pas._

"Not at all, I was smiling at the time," responded House, deliberately misinterpreting the question, "Anyway, it's not like she needs them as it looks like she's about ready to go into hibernation."

"House, it's the middle of summer."

"Then I hate to think how much larger she's gonna get; maybe we could conduct a study into the elastic properties of skin, or, we could start up a betting pool on whether she explodes or survives until winter."

Even Chase blanched at this last comment, "Isn't that a little harsh…even by your standards."

House regarded Chase as if, at best, the young doctor had suddenly developed an learning disability; although it was more likely that his long-held suspicion that the Australian was in fact, retarded, had been confirmed. "Do you actually have a point, Chase, or, were you planning to sit there and witter at me in your best Cameron impression?"

"House! That's not fair!"

House turned to regard his sole female minion with a gaze filled world-weary cynicism; "What has fair got to do with it, Cameron? What has fair got to do with anything?" the last was said in the bitter, self-mocking tone that long experience had shown the minions was far better to ignore; although, more often than not, Cameron, heartily entangled in the ropes of compassion, tried to reach out and usually got her fingers burnt or, on those occasions when House was feeling especially acerbic, amputated. There were times, however, when House appeared to regret the harshness of his rejoinders: this was not one of those times. "You want fair, go to the better business bureau, I'm sure that after a few years of meaningless wrangling over the completely irrelevant you'll come to whatever's left of your alleged senses."

Cameron regarded her mentor with an expression that hovered midway between bursting into tears and removing his testicles with an apple peeler, fortunately, however – spectators notwithstanding – Foreman chose that moment to heroically intervene in a manner akin to a particularly devoted kamikaze pilot, that is, confident in the moral rightness of his actions but eternally wondering why it was him who had to do it.

"Do you want to do this later; we have patients waiting."

"Patients?" intoned House in a wondering tone, "Oh, you mean those pesky sick people Cuddy keeps inflicting on me. Anybody sick?" He inquired at large as he cast a withering glance about the waiting room, which, to a virally infected person, avoided his gaze with resolute denial, "don't see any sick people around here."

"It's because they're all terrified," remarked Chase.

"Terrified? Of me? You must be joking, I'm not the least bit terrifying." House marched over to a young woman who watched his approach in much the same way a male black widow spider looks forward to his wife coming home from work. "You. Sick person. Am I terrifying?"

It probably didn't help that he was waving his cane in her face.

"Sick person, I asked you a question. Am I, Doctor House, terrifying?"

"Mfffgh," said the woman as she attempted to dissolve into her chair.

"See," House declaimed triumphantly, "I am not terrifying."

A quick, wordless conversation between the three minions established that it was probably safer in the short-term to humour House, because they feared that if one of them challenged him, the man might suffer a psychotic break and do something drastic, such as invading Poland, for example; thus, as usual, they decided to humour him…from a distance.

"Fine House, whatever, next patient?" inquired Foreman.

"Okay. Cameron, select a victim, or," he said, consulting his watch, "maybe not. Sorry minions, I have to be somewhere else."

"What do you mean you have to be somewhere else? Cuddy will crucify you if you don't do your hours."

"No she won't, she's the one I have to be somewhere else for."

"House, you wouldn't voluntarily do anything for Cuddy, even if she threatened to set your cane on fire."

"Two words, minion; clinic hours."

"I'm not stupid enough to ask who's going to cover your hours," noted Foreman resignedly, "but can I ask what was on the table to move Cuddy into relieving you of your time in the clinic."

"I'm to give an encore for that rabble posing as students."

The minions appeared confused at this pronouncement until a little light went off above Chase's head. "Do you mean to say that you are giving another lecture to the medical students who study here."

"Yes, that's right the rabble posing as students."

"Don't you mean posing as medical students?"

"Judging by their display the last time I talked to them I would hazard that some of them are barely competent posing as humans. Anyway, in the interests of courtesy, I am extending to them the assumption, on my part, that they are, ostensibly, students; frankly the thought that they might be proto-doctors is too terrifying to contemplate."

"Alright then," interrupted Foreman, "why are you," he took the time to stress the word to its fullest implication "talking to them again? Observation would clearly denote your opinion of them and, commonsense would imply that they wouldn't want a bar of…"

"They asked for me."

"They what?"

"They. Asked. For. Me. You're not going deaf are you, Foreman; or is it simply that your comprehension skills are more lacklustre than usual?"

"Leave him alone, House, I think he's going into shock," noted Chase, although he appeared more amused than concerned at this pronouncement, and indeed it appeared that the black man was undergoing the kind of rapid change to his worldview that renders a person insensate for a short time.

"Come now, Foreman, I'm not that bad." House's voice held a carrion smile, the sort one might expect to find on a vulture turning up early to the new, all-you-can-eat buffalo.

"No, of course not, House; how could I possibly think otherwise?"

"I find your lack of faith disturbing, Foreman."

"That's alright, I just find you disturbing."

Cameron, ever the mediator, decided to intervene. "What are you going to lecture on, House, I mean. It's not like you have any time to prepare something."

"You imply I had something prepared last time, Cameron."

"Well I'm not too sure how many fables from the 'Life of House' you can wheel out for the edification of the students" noted Foreman, somewhat snarkily, "without scarring them for life, I might add."

"Would you prefer I let you lecture them on the fundamentals of petty larceny, Foreman? Anyway, don't worry your pretty little head about it; I have an idea or two that should scare the majority of them into the hills. Now, who wants to stay here and torture innocent civilians while I'm converting the natives? Foreman? Excellent. Come along Cameron, Chase, Forman has work to do."


	6. I believe you are ignorant

_Mayhap an act of God, but this chapter is complete. Remembering the brilliance that was the episode where House first appeared before the students I hope you accept this humble submission in a kindly light._

_I doubt this chapter shall be updated for a period as I have another chapter to write for a Firefly fic, before embarking on the end of my seemingly eternal CSI work. However, if you would like me to continue this fic please let me know._

_I had been trying to forget my CSI fic, but 'tasha, who beta's it for me (actually, she abuses me and calls it beta-ing) threatened to rip my lungs out and mount them on the side of my head if I didn't finish it; so I'm acceding to her polite request._

_As always, thanks to those of you who read – and review-_

_

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_All things dull and ugly, All creatures short and squat,  
All things rude and nasty, The Lord God made the lot;  
Each little snake that poisons, Each little wasp that stings,  
He made their brutish venom, He made their horrid wings.  
All things sick and cancerous, All evil great and small,  
All things foul and dangerous, The Lord God made them all.  
Each nasty little hornet, Each beastly little squid.  
Who made the spikey urchin? Who made the sharks? He did.  
All things scabbed and ulcerous, All pox both great and small.  
Putrid, foul and gangrenous, The Lord God made them all.  
_**-- Monty Python's Flying Circus**

**

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**

Cuddy looked worried. Against her better judgement, she'd decided to attend the lesson, despite knowing that she'd sleep much better not knowing what House was going to say. However, a combination of horrified fascination and protective mother-hen instincts, at least, that is, for the mental well-being of the students as she knew House could – and inevitably would - look after himself, had involuntarily led her here and, at this point in time, it was too late to either change her timetable or, for that matter, to move to a mode adequately protected bomb shelter to avoid the inevitable fallout. Of course, in situations where Gregory House was involved, the concept of inevitability had a tendency to gather momentum and intimations of impending doom - usually presented in the form of a large, razor-sharp Damocleatian sword with special hospital-administrator skin gift-wrapping – were omnipresent.

House, for his part appeared in front of the class in his usual dishevelled state, much like an unmade bed although an unmade bed tended to affect a slightly less disaffected manner and, for that matter, one somewhat less fatalistic. House, Cuddy was aware, believed that the Lord, in all his wisdom had put other people on the planet solely to test him and, thus, the man forever assumed the mien of Job when coming into contact with anything that walked, crawled, scuttled or slithered on the face of the earth. For that matter he wasn't known to be overly fond of creatures that flew or swam…and then there were students. Now, standing at the lectern, he reviewed the assembled morass of assembled educational optimism and his face assumed a slightly offended expression as if something he had just scraped of his shoe had come to life and was now waiting for him to do something entertaining.

"So," the laconic voice drawled from the front of the lecture theatre, "you wanted me back. Feeling inadequate were we? Or, did some form of collective death wish inspire this potentially suicidal enterprise? Perhaps," the mellifluous voice continued, "we may consider this as the lemmings' approach to medical education; because if necessary, and in consideration of your woefully inept performance from the last time I had the misfortune to cast my eyes on you, I am more that happy to chase you off a cliff; for while you may, and I stress may, hold some small measure of ability, what that precise ability is is yet to be fully determined insofar as the only talent any of you demonstrated previously was an inability to make decisions; or at least," he amended "decisions that you are actually prepared to defend. Decisions are not flotsam and jetsam, neither are they life-rings thrown to you by the hospital's litigation team; decisions, ladies and gentlemen, are your stock-in-trade. Here's a newsflash kids, the first thing you have to understand about being a doctor; that is," he amended, "a real doctor and not a pharmaceutical company's pill pusher, is that it is inevitably you will get it wrong and the patient will die; if you can't accept that, then give up now and become a stamp collector."

"But not every medical decision is about life and death Doctor House."

House regarded the questioner with a level expression, the type he usually reserved for hospital administrators, Chase, and Wilson when he attempted to act as House's conscience. "Possibly true if you have the spine of a jellyfish, but definitely, and inevitably, wrong. Just because some retard with a minor case of the common cold isn't writhing in front of you doesn't mean that there's something wrong with them. It also doesn't mean that there isn't. But in either case that won't stop them dying when they have a reaction to the medicine you prescribed."

"But if I don't know about any potential reactions how can it be my fault?"

"Because you prescribed the medication, end of story. Lesson number one: whether or not it is your fault if something bad happens you are responsible; accountability is everything and if you're not prepared to be accountable you had better make sure you have someone else to blame," he grinned maliciously at towards the back of the room where Cameron and Chase had positioned themselves; "this is why I have minions. You, however, being little better than noxious bacteria will have to make do with owning up to your own incompetence. Also, it is important to remember that if you're prepared to take the glory for something you didn't do then you also have to be prepared to assume responsibility for all the over things you didn't do. People – and hospital administrators," he added, casting a wry glance in Cuddy's direction "don't care about reasons, all they care about are results," or perhaps, he noted sardonically, "that should be liability."

Cuddy buried her face in her hands knowing that she should have trusted her instincts and asked anyone other than House to deliver that day's lecture; but no, having bowed to the request of the students she was now she thanking the higher powers that Vogler was otherwise engaged. As she looked about the room, on the off-chance that she might spy a kindred spirit with whom she could commiserate she noted Chase and Cameron seated side-by-side; reflexively, she smiled, for they resembled nothing so much as a pair of drama masks one amused, one horrified; it was, she thought, a very apropos way to consider the mystery that was Gregory House: the agony and the ecstasy.

"But you experiment with your patients all the time; isn't that inconsistent."

"Two things:" noted House. "Consistency is the mark of a small mind and, I've killed enough of my patients to know what I'm doing. Now, if you've nothing else we'll move on." Taking the silence as an invitation, House continued "The last time I was here the most important thing to note was your remarkable ability, as a group, to start with the blindly obvious and then ignore everything else to the contrary until it was too late to do anything other than sit back and admire the consequences; indeed, your collective belief that if it looks, barks and shits like a dog it is indeed a dog leads to more problems than it solves, and frankly, if we left a sick dog in your care we'd end up with a dead camel.

"That's not entirely true Doctor House."

"So tell me, oh lowly, apprentice minion, what is the truth?"

"You led us to believe…"

"…I led you to believe nothing. Each time I presented a piece of a scenario you all jumped on it like it was some sort of Holy Grail. Each time you were sure that It Was The Answer. Examined options you did not. Consequences acknowledged were not. Afraid of appearing ignorant you were. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to malpractice…"

"And malpractice is to be feared above everything else?"

"No. Malpractice leads to Doctor Cuddy and thence to the dark side. Alright, let me ask a question; what drives a doctor?"

"A need to heal. To make sick people well."

"If you tell me you believe the children are our future and that you want to make the world a better place I'm going to be sick."

"How about the requirement to pay their green fees?" came a voice from the back of the room.

House glared in the direction of the palpably Australian accent "Shut up Chase."

Returning his attention to the students, he continued. "The thing that drives a doctor is the requirement to meet expectation. See the thing is society has placed the idea of the doctor on somewhat of a pedestal, that is, if you're sick; go see a doctor, the doctor knows all. This way of thinking has reached a point where people go to the doctor not because they are really sick but because society tells them that is what they must do if they feel ill; where ill can be anything from death to a sprained ingrown hair. In turn, we have doctors, unable to find anything wrong with said patients, prescribing medicines in order to meet an expectation of being made well on the patient's part that is more psychologically than physically based; the result of this is, of course, an overuse of medicines and a concomitant increase in bacterial resistance."

"This is all very sociological Doctor House, but do you have a point?"

"That's like asking you if you have a brain; the only difference is that I'll get to my point." House sighed mightily; dealing with idiots was so tiring, "Now, if we extend the above scenario to its logical conclusion we note that patient expectation becomes one of medical infallibility and evidenced medical behaviour becomes one of Delphic inscrutability and omniscience; that is, if nothing's wrong the doctor will invent something and if there is something wrong and the doctor doesn't know what it is they will seize onto the first possible thing it might be – however unlikely - in order to make it appear to the patient, or their families, that they do indeed know what they're doing."

"But you have to do something, you can't just let patients sit there and rot."

"Well, the jury's still out on that one; personally, I think we could all do with less sick people, nasty messy things that they are, however, their families get upset if you let them die, and then they moan to Cuddy, then Cuddy gets upset and…" he caught sight of Lisa Cuddy's increasingly stony expression and decided to move on.

"Questions?"


End file.
